CHAPTER THIRTEEN

August 26, 1520

Greenwich

Mary was swept through the next few days at the royal court on a wave of frothing excitement. She strolled, she danced, she smiled and laughed in a sea of new faces. The king took the newlyweds hunting in the blue-green forests of Kentish Eltham. She watched His Grace and his closest circle of comrades tilt, bowl on the green, and shoot at butts. The king taught Mary to gamble at Primero and Gleek and to dice for coins and kisses at the Hazard tables. The whirl of fun and flirtations from Henry Tudor went on and on. Mary was content to ride the wave of the royal affections forever.

Her entire first week at court, Mary never once saw the queen, who summered with her young daughter, Mary, at Beaulieu for several weeks of respite and contemplation. It was whispered that Spanish Catherine was most pious and beloved by the people of her realm, though Mary caught the undercurrent of gossip against her from some courtiers. Though they said she used to display a winning smile and fine sense of humor, the past two years, since the sixth stillborn child she had delivered to His Grace, she had grown heavy and wore out-of-date gowns, crucifixes, and top-weighty jeweled headresses. Jane Rochford had even whispered that the poor, sad queen wore a haircloth of the Third Order of Saint Francis under her opulent clothes, even in the hot summer months. Beyond such chatter, the distant life of Henry’s queen touched the laughing Mary Carey not at all.

Will Carey was kind and attentive when the king was not about, and that other Will—everyone called him Staff, and he seemed to be vastly popular—seldom bothered her. He appeared to be a fast friend to her husband, so she steeled herself to be kinder to him, since she would no doubt see him much. He was right about one thing, the rogue. She would have to hide her contempt for his outrageous actions now that she lived at such a civilized court. At first it had amazed her that King Henry wanted such a cynical man from a dangerous family around him all the time. But the more she studied Stafford, the more she understood. Staff was witty, an excellent horseman and sporter, and what better place for a king to put someone he did not trust than next to him at butts, or as the opponent on the other side of the tennis net? As far as Mary could tell, Staff was the only man who had the nerve or the stupidity to always tell the king what he thought and beat him at bowls too. She would follow her clever king’s lead: they would allow Staff near, but never trust him.

Even now Staff leaned against a gilded gaming table, rakishly at ease, his eyes alternately on her and his casts of his ivory dice. Mary leaned lightly against her husband’s arm as she threw her dice. A lucky seven! She laughed and scooped the coppery coins from the little painted Hazard circle.

“Will, you have the only lady I know who can make money living at court instead of losing it,” Henry Norris gibed. Several others laughed, but Will Carey’s mouth only forced a tight smile. “It is time the Carey fortunes shot upward, gentlemen.”

“I do not worry about my husband’s family’s stakes at the game, Sir Henry,” Mary shook her dice violently and blew on them for luck as the king had taught her. “It is my brother George I would keep out of the poor house, before our father returns and strings him from The Tower for his foolhardiness at the tables.”

Francis Weston’s voice came teasingly over the clicks of dice, “I would not be too hard on him, Lady Carey. I would drink and gamble the evenings away too, if I had a little magpie forever chattering in my ear. Besides, he told me when I helped him back to his room last night that he favors Thomas Wyatt’s sister, Margot.”

Mary rolled a ten and her streak was broken. “I would appreciate it if you would not repeat George’s problems, Sir Francis.” She looked up at the tall, handsome man. “It is painful to love elsewhere from where one must wed. But it is not an uncommon pain, and George should not have spoken of it.” She suddenly had the oddest feeling that Weston would make a cutting remark of some kind to her. He seemed to hesitate. Would he accuse her of marrying one man and loving the king? Surely, he would not dare. Besides, he would be wrong, though she could not tell him so.

“My apologies, lady,” he said, and his green eyes searched her face briefly. She was annoyed that Will paid so little attention to her conversation. George was his brother-in-law. It would hurt his Carey pride to come to her aid.

Weston, Norris and their ladies moved to the other table and George, with Jane Rochford in tow, drifted toward the Careys. George had one hand on his sword and drummed his other fingers on the table edge as Will Carey cast his dice.

“Damn, Will, you are as ill-fortuned as I tonight. Where is His Grace anyway? He is usually in the thick of the action by now. He will not be pleased when he finds some of us are already down too many coins to take him on tonight.”

Mary answered George before Will could respond. “He is with a messenger from the queen at Beaulieu, George. Why do you not wager smaller amounts? It is still early. Here, but do not risk everything on one foolish throw.” She extended her palm to George, and he sheepishly took the little pile of copper coins.

“My dear, you should keep your winnings,” Will chided at her side. “When the king comes, you know he likes large wagers and you are his favorite partner.”

Mary blushed at the scolding and George noticed. “After all, the game is called Hazard,” George said with an edge on his voice. “You have to take risks and hazard a win—as in life, Will.”

Before Mary could change the subject, Jane Rochford’s light voice interrupted. “I think it is all tremendous fun, and George usually does very well. He studies so hard at Lincoln’s Inn, it is no wonder he likes to have a little fun sometimes.” She smiled sweetly at George, who chose to ignore her support as he headed toward the other table.

“He is bent on winning back the money he just lost to that handsome Will Stafford,” Jane explained over her shoulder as she followed him. “I just love to see the two of them bluff each other.”

“I wish George would dice with someone trustworthy,” Mary muttered to Will under her breath.

“If you mean Staff, Mary, he is one of the most trustworthy men I have ever known. Besides, your brother is old enough to take care of himself. He is a full year older than you, so let him be.”

“He does not act it,” she countered testily. “And I thought Stafford was a traitor.”

“Has His Grace spoken to you of Staff? No? Then you should remember that the way of it, with both Staff and the Careys, is that we pay for something our elders did—our dead elders. His Grace likes and respects Staff and me, or he would never have us about and in trusted positions. If he says otherwise, it is just bluff talk.” He took Mary’s arm and guided her away from the table. “As for your dear George, your father will settle him soon enough when he returns from France.”

Mary thought of many things to say in reproach of his lecture to her, but she held her tongue. All he thought of was the precious Careys earning their way back. He had no right to look down on George and the Bullens the way he did, and as some of his friends did too. He looked on her every night with eyes full of passion, but he was always so inwardly controlled whenever he touched her or spoke to her that she was not sure if red English blood flowed in his veins or not.

To make her temper worse, there stood that foolish Jane Rochford gazing up at Staff’s smiling face. There was always some woman trailing after him or on his arm. She should have known he would be a skirt chaser in addition to everything else. Will was wrong. His Grace would never trust such a man. She would ask him herself what he really thought of William Stafford when she got the chance.

Edward Guildford, Henry Clifford, and a few others were slowly vacating the Hazard tables to conserve their purses until His Grace appeared. Mary tapped her foot in impatience. Why did Will have to make her so upset tonight when she had been having such a fine time? Maybe she was used to having Henry around to cheer her and keep the court hounds at bay from their rude remarks and Will from his scolding lectures. Now, if only George had the sense to quit gambling with Stafford and await the king’s arrival!

Henry Tudor swept in at last, looking grand and huge as usual. He clapped his hands and summoned them all around him like a pack of spaniels.

“Wonderful news! We are to have a revel, and I have just been planning the entire thing myself. We have not had a fine one since May Day and this will be the most fantastic yet.” His narrow eyes glowed and he looked so confident. Mary felt better already for his mere presence.

“The setting will be Sherwood forest. We will have a marvelous Nottingham Castle, and we shall all wear masks. Mister Cornish who helped me with the idea will teach you the knight and lady parts tonight. We have no time for gambling tonight. The masque is tomorrow!”

The rapt audience murmured at the news. A pleasant diversion indeed, and Mary was thrilled. She had seen such elaborate masques at Francois’s court, but had only taken a small part while Francoise du Foix was given the exciting roles with the king.

“All right, everyone to the hall to see Mister Cornish. And do what he bids, all of you, with no arguing, or you will answer to me!” Everyone laughed and trooped off behind the Guildfords.

“I need Lady Carey to play Maid Marian, so you may leave her behind,” the king called out after them suddenly. Mary turned, her heart beating fast. What would Will say? “I know you will not mind,” the king rushed to Will. “Mister Cornish has a lovely lady for you to partner. And when you get to the hall, tell Staff not to get in the dancing either. I have another job for him.” He dismissed Carey with a wave of his hand. “So many details, Mary.”

“What a wonderful idea, Sire,” she smiled up at him. “Did you think of it just this evening? You said nothing of it earlier.”

He took her arm at the elbow and led her to a darkened windowseat in the crook of the huge bay window overlooking the black Thames down the sloping lawns. “I like surprises, my Mary, especially for one I love. Do you approve of being this Robin Hood’s Maid Marian?”

She nodded happily as he put his huge hand on her chin and tilted her head up. He bent to meet her mouth. His kiss was warm, then crushing, and his tongue probed her mouth in the French way. His other hand crept to her narrow waist, then slid up her breasts to the rim of her lacy neckline. He pulled her to him across the polished wood and slipped his hand down into the dress between her full breasts. Her eyes flew open in surprise at his bold tactic here in the public room of the palace. But it was dark and the windowseat gave some privacy. He was king and he had sent them all away—George, her husband, Staff, all.

His breathing was loud and deep. “Mary, I have waited so long, willing myself not to touch you, waiting as I had promised I would. But the king is only a man in love, and he can wait no longer. You would not have me wait longer, would you, my love?”

“I was so happy when you walked into the room tonight, Your Grace. I have been so thrilled this last week at your court. I thank you for, well, for all this.”

I have told the truth, she thought. Can I tell him I do not love him?

“All for me, sweetheart, the happiness, the thrill? It is not because of your new husband?”

“No, Sire. Will is kind and considerate, but the happiness is you.”

He crushed her against his iron chest so tightly she could hardly breathe. His hands ran wildly over her back, down her hips, and one palm cupped her derriere, smashing the voluminous skirts. “Mary, you will yield to me! Tomorrow will be the beginning of our love in truth. Tonight we must join the others and smile and dance and plan for the revels on the morrow. Then, tomorrow night after the masque, after the welcome home banquet, you will stay the night with me and Will goes home alone! I shall send him on a mission if I must. I have waited too long. ’Sblood, I will take you before the whole audience at the feast or on the jousting green if I am held off longer!”

Mary smiled tremulously at him as he released her. She carefully straightened her mussed clothes and hair from his fervent attack. They rose reluctantly to join the others.

“Did you say, Sire, the masque is for a welcome home feast?”

“Yes, my luscious Maid Marian. The queen returns from Beaulieu tomorrow morn. It will be her first night back at court for a fortnight, so it is all in her honor.”

A tiny hurt bit at Mary’s insides somewhere. On the good queen’s first night at home she would dance for her and bow to her and then become her dear husband’s mistress in deed as well as name.

Mary could scarcely believe the swiftness with which the masque fell together. By the next evening everything had been assembled as if through sorcery. The framework of a great machine, which had obviously been employed for other revels, was garlanded with saplings and foliage to create a rich green forest setting which could be rolled out into the middle of the room. Another vast contraption on wheels was built from scaffolding and covered with canvas painted like stone to serve as the wicked Sheriff of Nottingham’s castle where the maidens would be imprisoned to be rescued by the brave band of Merry Men from Sherwood. Costumes for the men and ladies appeared as if from nowhere. Intricate initials of H and C were embroidered on the bodices, entwined with roses in honor of the queen. In the morning the revelers rehearsed their parts and the leads practiced their few lines of speaking with musical accompaniment. The queen’s retinue had arrived in the hour before noon. All was magically ready.

Everyone attended the banquet dressed in standard court dress, for they would don their costumes at a signal from the king. Once again, Mary was too excited to eat, although she kept dabbing at the marvelous porpoise in mustard sauce. His Grace and Queen Catherine sat on the dais with the Duke of Suffolk alone, for the Duchess was not yet recovered from the birth of her cherished new daughter.

“How wonderful to marry for love and still be loved,” Mary said aloud, instantly wishing she had not.

Will Carey had been brooding under a raincloud all day and she assumed it was because he had guessed or been told that tonight he must begin to pay for the bounty which had fallen into his eager hands. “The princess was damned fortunate the king loved Charles Brandon and that the crafty Lord Chancellor Wolsey made him realize that there were other ploys to keep England attached to both Francois and Charles of Spain. The king’s whims toward women blow whichever way and when. That goes for his once beloved sister and poor Bessie Blount who bore his son hidden at a priory, and has been packed away in a swiftly-arranged marriage ever since. You would do best to remember that, wife.”

Tears stung Mary’s eyes and she did not look up. “I shall remember it, sir.”

“I am counting on it. One day I will have you all to myself, and then we shall see!”

His bitter vehemence almost frightened her, but what did she expect? He was a man with pride, especially family pride. He cares not as much for me as he does for his Carey escutcheon being tarnished, she thought.

The queen, as far as Mary could tell, looked very pleased to be at home. She gazed on her husband often, nodded and chatted. Did he love her still? Surely he had loved her once in these ten years of their marriage, but when did love cease? She looked heavy and tired next to her exuberant lord, but she had borne him seven children and their little girl, Mary, was said to be her father’s pride. But like Francois, he could nod and smile to his queen and then turn and leer at Mary from across the expanse of laden tables.

She hoped the queen would like her part in the revel of honor. They would wear masks, but they were all to unmask at the finale and be presented to Her Grace. Would she hate her when she heard court gossip? Could she ever understand that Mary Bullen had not chosen to warm the king’s bed, but it had just happened somehow?

“Stop staring, foolish wench. You had better learn to be more discreet here. Our king does not parade his mistresses under the nose of his consort as did your fine Francois du Roi!”

Mary kept her stubborn silence for a moment, then said, “I was only looking at the queen. I have not seen her for a long time, you know.”

“She is a fine and patient lady with her bullish lord,” Will whispered. “And I do not give a whit who you are staring at, but the king obviously thinks it is at him. There, he rises. Come, let us get this farce over with. It will take us long enough to change.”

Mary wanted to ask him why he bothered to participate in the masque if he thought it all foolishness, but she knew better. The king commanded, and that was that. Besides, she did not wish to cross Will while he displayed this nasty temper. She hoped he would get used to things and be more himself. If she could face up to it, he must learn to.

She donned her silken green-and-white dress and pinned the gauzy veil on her loosed hair. Her mask, as the king’s and the villain sheriff’s, was golden to separate them from the minor characters. That was the only bad point of this whole marvelous endeavor, she thought, smoothing her full skirts over her hips—for some perverse reason, the king had appointed William Stafford to play the Sheriff of Nottingham, and that meant he was her kidnapper and she had to stay wedged with him in the castle scaffolding while the other ladies were rescued first. Then Robin Hood came to personally challenge the sheriff for her release.

“At least good Robin beats the scoundrel in the end,” she said aloud to comfort herself. Will had said the king chose Staff because it pleased his sense of adventure to become an outlaw himself while making the blackguard the symbol of law and order in the realm. But Mary knew better. The Sheriff of Nottingham was a wretched villain, and the king saw clearly enough to typecast the part. She had quietly told Staff that very thing at a rehearsal in the morning, though he just laughed at her and the snub gave her no pleasure.

They lined up in order; the lights dimmed; the music began. The settings of forest and castle creaked into the cleared center of the room and the dancing between the Merry Men of Sherwood and the ladies began. The steps were mostly those of a well-known pavan, for they had had little time to practice. The masks were secured by tied ribbons, but Mary’s kept slipping to obscure her vision. Everyone looked strange and distant in their masks. She suddenly felt as though she had never known any of them at all. The men’s hair color was hidden by their green forest caps, and the women’s heads were almost completely covered by their filmy, floating veils.

In the first dancing encounter, Mary partnered the king proudly, wishing her father could see her here at Henry’s court—surely, he would love to see her like this. Through the eye slits in her mask she could see little four-year-old Mary Tudor standing on a chair next to her mother, her eyes wide in awe at the beauty of the event.

The music quickened, the sheriff and his men attacked the dancing group and temporarily threw the outlaw band into disarray. Robin Hood, of course, had already departed on business into the green forest, for it would never do for this Robin to be vanquished, even if that had been the original story. The ladies were seized and taken to the castle with shouts and cries from the audience.

As he had done at the two rehearsals, Staff made certain that he was the one to abduct the blonde Maid Marian. The king had encouraged it, for the arch villain of the piece should take the love of the hero, so that they might fight in the end.

Mary kept her tongue while in front of the group, for she saw no way out of the situation. But each time he wedged her tightly between his strong body and the inner wooden framework of the castle, as they awaited the final challenge of Robin Hood, she told him to keep his hands to himself and off her waist and hips.

Tonight she had intended to put someone else between her and Staff while they stood, eight of them, packed in the mock castle. But her mask slipped again and, in the shadows of the inner void, he had her tight against him again. She raised her mask above her eyebrows and tried to thrust an elbow into his ribs.

“Loose me,” she whispered.

“Hush, sweet Maid Marian. There is a full audience tonight and we must not ruin the king’s fun—unfortunately.” His voice was low, but his mouth was so close, he rustled her hair and veil when he spoke.

“I am sure this amuses you!”

“No, sweetheart, it pleases me to have you so close and my captive. It is my fondest fantasy.”

She hated him for his mocking ways, but his voice seemed to be in earnest. She pushed out against him to free herself from his near embrace, but he did not budge and she felt his hard, flat stomach and muscular thighs press her back. Her heart began to pound distinctly from the strenuous dancing. He, too, seemed out of breath, breathing raggedly in her ear, standing close to her, touching her everywhere. His hands rested on the rough wood behind her against which her hips leaned. They stood silent while the music played on, and somewhere out there, Robin and his men searched the forest for their ladies. She wanted to threaten him, to say she would tell the king or her husband, but she did not. Her knees grew weak against his legs and she began to tremble from somewhere deep inside.

Then the music changed. The ladies and the sheriff’s men spilled out of the castle for combat, leaving only the sheriff and his prisoner for the outlaw hero to find a few moments later.

Neither of them moved, although the dim empty cavity of the castle now gave them room. Staff bent his head and his lips caressed hers once. “No,” she said. “No.”

He kissed her again, bringing both hands up behind her head to hold her still, and his hot lips slanted sideways across her open mouth. Her head spun crazily. She was dizzy. She could not breathe in here. She would fall in front of the queen. They would all know what he had done. There was no time left, surely. The castle portcullis would swing up, the door would be opened and His Grace would see them!

He pulled his mouth away and said against her flushed cheek, “I have never envied any other man his bed before this long, long week. Now two men will possess you and neither really loves you, Mary Bullen. Think of me when you spread your sweet thighs for them!”

He pulled away from her abruptly, and she almost fell. His words spun in her head, but she could not grasp the meaning. He tugged her by her wrist to the door of the castle just as it swung wide and the king stood there, his golden sword held aloft and his mask obscuring his face. Mary thought to yank down her mask just as she followed the beleaguered sheriff into the pool of light at center stage. She stood with her hands clasped in mock fear as they parried and thrust at each other amid cheers and applause in the ring of dancers. It was sometime then, during their fierce battle, that she caught Staff’s words and grasped their meaning. Undoubtedly, he did not really care for her, but was only amusing himself by chasing the mistress of the king. Surely he must detest His Grace for his handling of him all these years, even as Will Carey resented it.

The sheriff was beaten and his sword was dropped at the feet of the victor. Applause exploded and everyone bowed before Queen Catherine and the tiny clapping princess. Mary took her curtseys between Staff and the king, but none of them looked anywhere but on the smiling Catherine. Finally, she was presented to Her Grace, who said some kind words about her father and her lovely mother, and then the room emptied swiftly. Henry escorted his queen from the table, and carried his smiling, babbling moppet on his great arm.

Mary had not expected that. Perhaps she had misunderstood him. Her husband was gone and, thank the blessed saints, so was Staff. But Francis Weston was at her side taking her elbow gently. “May I escort you, Lady Carey? His Grace said he would be but a moment.”

Her apprehension ebbed, but then embarrassment flooded in to think that they all knew. Weston, her husband, Staff, they all knew. She dreaded what the queen would say when someone told her about why the young Bullen girl was newly come to court.

Sir Francis said not another word, and Mary briefly wondered if he had done this for His Grace before. Maybe with poor banished Bessie Blount. Weston’s own wife? She began to tremble again. She thought suddenly of another who had been sent to fetch her for a king—the cold, snake-like man in gray silk. What was his name?

“Good evening, Lady Carey,” Sir Francis said with a quick glance that rested on her white face and heaving breasts. He quietly closed the door to the small room.

She leaned on the door for a full minute, her hands pressed to her breasts. The room was all linen-fold paneling and the wood seemed to glow in warm shadows from the low burning fire. There was a table and wine, three chairs—were they expecting a third? she thought irrationally—and a huge bed, high with a deep crimson coverlet. She sat in the nearest chair and leaned back on the stuffed blue velvet pillow.

William Stafford was crazy or he just meant to hurt her. Perhaps he was angered he had not been chosen to wed her and so be given the revenue and lands from the king. Perhaps, in that sense, he was jealous. How she would like to think he was jealous! She was grateful the king had not chosen him to wed with her, or deliver her here tonight. She could never have faced that.

Resolutely, she pushed William Stafford from her mind and banished the bitter, pinched face of Will Carey. Tonight she was waiting for the King of England. Father, I will sleep with your king tonight, she thought. Please come home soon, so you will see how well I am getting on.

Then a tall Robin Hood filled the doorway, his hair glowing red in the firelight, his gleaming narrow eyes upon her.